


Can't Sleep

by Jennysonackles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Purgatory, Season/Series 08, Series Spoilers, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 18:33:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennysonackles/pseuds/Jennysonackles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel looks confused, dirt on his face, overcoat torn up. The scraggle on his chin and cheeks seems harsh against his skin, and Dean feels itchy and restless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [2ofacrime24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/2ofacrime24/gifts).



> This is a gift work for the Dean/Cas Secret Santa exchange 2012! I hope you like it, Frayed1989 - I'm sorry if I didn't get it totally what you wanted, but I also got some ideas for a multi-chapter that I didn't have time to write for this, but if I do I would like to dedicate it to you~ Merry Christmas, happy new year! xo

Dean can't sleep. After so long, tomorrow is the day he's going to blow out of Purgatory. He's found Cas, he's made a friend in Benny (he thinks). They're going to do it. They're all going to leave, and Dean can't sleep on his last night. Somewhere, Benny is prowling around their small camp, keeping danger away. Cas is sitting cross legged on the floor a few metres away from where Dean is lying so very awake. Dean is pretty sure he can hear Cas breathing long and deep, as deep as the frown on his face.   
"Dean," Cas says softly, his gruff voice cutting through the darkness. Dean closes his eyes.  
"Cas," he answers. "What can I help you with?"  
There's a pause. "You're awake?"  
"No, I'm fast asleep," Dean mumbles, sitting up. Castiel looks confused, dirt on his face, overcoat torn up. The scraggle on his chin and cheeks seems harsh against his skin, and Dean feels itchy and restless.  
"Oh." The cogs in Cas' brain turn. "I'm sorry I woke you."   
"It's fine, Cas. I was already awake." Dean shuffles closer to where Castiel is sitting, burying the tip of his Purgatory-made knife into the ground, hand on the hilt. "What is it?"  
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"  
Dean pauses. "No."  
Castiel isn't looking at Dean, his focus somewhere to the side. He nods at the twisted grey trees before turning to face his friend. "I appreciate your honesty."  
"Well, Cas, there ain't much point in lying." Dean holds the angel's eyes for a while, and Cas doesn't respond for a while. They look. They sit.  
"You should go without me," Castiel says at last, still looking at Dean with an intensity that used to be overpowering. The insistence in his words is laced with desperation, like Cas is begging Dean to let him stay here, in this hell hole.  
"Cas, for the last time, I'm not leaving without you," Dean doesn't hesitate, but pulls his knife out of the ground and twists it in his hands. "We go together, or not at all."  
"Dean--"  
"No, Cas!" Dean's voice rises and so does he. Castiel follows suit and stands too, staring up at Dean. He looks tired. "We're not talking about this any more, we're getting out of here together." Castiel looks away, his frown deepening. Dean feels like if he looks away from the angel in front of him, it'll all be gone, Cas will be gone, everything will have been for naught. "You and me, Cas." Tension seeps out of Castiel's shoulders and Dean throws his knife back into the dirt at his feet.  
"You and me, Dean," Cas repeats, looking back at Dean for a moment (it feels like longer) before turning away and sitting down again.  
"Glad you finally get it," Dean grumbles, resuming his seat next to Cas. He's still antsy that something will happen - leviathan are always out there, as well as a million vamps and werewolves and God only knows what else. Things he and Sam killed that may want revenge. Things that just want to kill. Dean shudders and feels a hand on his shoulder.  
"Thank you, Dean." Castiel isn't looking at the hunter, but straight ahead. He still frowns, still hunches over like the weight of the lead sky is on his shoulders, still poised to run at any moment, but his voice is sincere and gravelly, and Dean finds that he's sinking into it, into the hand on his shoulder, and he's leaning closer to Cas and Cas is leaning closer to Dean, hand slipping down to wrap around Dean's back.  
Suddenly sleeping doesn't seem like such a chore, and Castiel feels awkward and unsure next to him, but Dean can feel the scruff of beard on his forehead and he closes his eyes.  
"Don't thank me," he says, conscious of the intense chick flick feelings in this chick flick moment. "Just make sure you get out with me." Castiel sighs and his lips press against Dean's forehead, warm and dry and unfamiliar. Unsure as to whether to be uncomfortable or a little turned on, Dean pulls away and Castiel's hand drops to the floor behind him. Dean is very aware of himself, of Castiel, and his nerves are jittery with the constant fear that something will go wrong and they'll all die horrible deaths, or that there is no way out after all.  
Castiel opens his mouth as if to say something, but thinks better of it and lies down, facing Dean. He looks at the hunter for a moment (and once again, it feels like much, much longer), nods, and closes his eyes. For a little while, Dean sits next to the angel (who may or may not be sleeping) and he looks at the mess of dark hair, the beard, the chapped lips (why the chapped lips?). He looks out at the forever grey sky, the gnarled trees and dirt of Purgatory. Dean thinks of Sammy, and of how he'll find him when he gets out. Dean wonders whether or not Sam has been looking for him, and when his eyes grow heavy with the soothing feeling of Castiel so close, Dean yanks his knife out of the ground and curls up, grasping the hilt firmly in case he wakes up in need of it.  
He faces Castiel as he lies there, and slowly, slowly, his eyes close and he sleeps.  
****  
Dean can't sleep. He tosses and turns and checks his gun is under his pillow in case of an emergency (it is), but he can't sleep. The motel is too closed in, maybe, or the smell isn't right. He's not sleeping on the ground, doesn't need to somehow rest with both eyes open. He's home (or as close to home as he can get with Sammy and the Impala), but it doesn't feel that way.  
He should have held on tighter. He should have resisted the buffeting of the wind and the roar in his ears. He should have held on tighter, dammit!   
Dean sits up in the dark, aware of Sam snoring lightly in the bed next to his. The sound should be comforting, but it reminds Dean of his last night there, of Castiel and his dry lips on Dean's skin for half a heartbeat, of waking up and seeing Castiel with his eyes still closed in sleep, his frown gone. Plus, Sam didn't come looking. Sam moved on, Sam forgot. Sammy let him down, and Dean let Cas down, and this family is one big mess.  
Standing up, Dean pads barefooted into the bathroom and turns on the cold water, leans on the edges of the sink, and stares at his reflection in the grimy mirror. He's not dirty. First time he saw himself fresh out of Purgatory, he was surprised. He'd been shaving as best he could with his knife, even hacked at his hair occasionally so it wouldn't get in his eyes. Now he was neater, hair cut by Sam (because why pay for the hairdressers?), clean clothes. His scruff was there, but he had less cuts from accidents while shaving. His scrapes and bruises from fighting every day and night were healing, his face clean of mud. He didn't smell like sin itself from hours of running and days of not being able to wash.  
Dean feels out of place as he cups his hands beneath the water and splashes it over his face. He stares at it swirling down the drain for a few seconds before turning the tap off and making his way back to his bed to toss and turn for a while longer.   
When he pulls the covers up to his chin, Dean rolls over and looks at the empty space beside him. He closes his eyes and he sees Castiel falling out of his grasp, yelling his name over and over, his eyes wide, mouth open, sweat beading on his forehead. His hand had been clammy. Both of their hands had been clammy - did that have something to do with it? Dean pushes the images away with a sick twist in his gut, trying to think instead of Castiel sleeping. The innocence and purity that seemed to take over his features when he wasn't worried, or trying to save Dean, or fighting. It hurts Dean that he couldn't keep his promises that he'd get Cas out; this deep ache that roots in his stomach and leaves a sour taste in his mouth.  
But Castiel's image, the image of him and the remembrance of his hand on Dean's shoulder, Dean's back - his lips on Dean's forehead - it all merges and Dean imagines what would have happened if Castiel had come back. He washes away at least a little of the guilt with the sound of Castiel saying his name in the sharp smell of Purgatory, the softness in his voice surprising. He can almost hear it, and thinking that Castiel is actually there, Dean opens his eyes.  
And Dean  
sees  
Castiel.  
The angel reaches out, eyes burning, and he lays his hand on Dean's shoulder. He's dirty and scruffy and he hasn't shaved but his hand is on Dean's shoulder and Dean is trying to figure out how to speak, wondering why Cas isn't speaking and oh God he's here, and Dean sits up so suddenly that the dream is shattered and he wakes up.  
And Castiel isn't really there after all.  
Dean brings his hand to his shoulder, sure that he felt the touch, sure that Castiel was here because there's no way that Dean can remember the exact colour of blue in his eyes to imagine them that clearly - especially in the dark. With a heavy sigh he lies down again, staring at the ceiling. It's only a good two hours later that Dean finds himself drifting again, and this time he pushes himself towards sleep, hoping to find Castiel there. No matter how much it hurts him to have failed, Dean wants to dream of his angel, take his hand, ask him to stay. Dean wants to dream of chapped lips on his forehead and a hand on his shoulder. Dean wants Castiel, and if sleep will give him what he wants...  
Dean will sleep for hours if it means he can get Castiel back, if just for a moment.


End file.
